


An Evening in Halamshiral

by ead13



Series: Carta Thug, Surfacer Trash, and/or Andraste's Herald [2]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Orlesians (disgusted sound), Politics, Racism, Self-Doubt, The Game sucks, Wicked Eyes Wicked Hearts, good thing she's a rogue, just let her cut someone..., what to do when no one deserves the throne?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-19
Updated: 2018-04-19
Packaged: 2019-04-24 21:52:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14364459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ead13/pseuds/ead13
Summary: When you are an ex-Carta agent, you get accustomed to spying and secrets. The Orlesian Game, however, takes this to a whole different level, and Malika Cadash is not eager to play. She and her companions have to somehow survive the night when nothing is as it seems and everyone is hiding something behind a mask... Saving the empress, meanwhile, is up for debate.





	An Evening in Halamshiral

**Author's Note:**

> This is what happens when you finally try a different outcome during a mission you've played many times, and the resulting feels get you so bad you just have to write a short story about said mission.

The moment she’d picked the lock on the door to the Knight-Commander’s office and let it swing open, she’d compared the scene before her eyes to something out of one of Varric’s crime serials. Blood, lots of blood. A dead body belonging to the Knight Vigilant left in an unsightly heap on the floor. Incriminating letters hinting at the dark machinations afoot. Overall though, it was not completely unexpected, all recent indications considered. Only Barris, poor, naïve Barris, had been left aghast by such a betrayal within the upper ranks of his order. Perhaps those too close to the problem were blind to what an outsider’s eyes could see clear as day.

In complete contrast, when the door swung open to a small study in the officer’s quarters, every single companion’s jaw dropped. The walls were covered in eye insignias of various designs, each scrawled in what appeared to be blood. Watching, they were, and never blinking. Burning candles flickered eerily, casting dancing shadows across the ominous markings and the torn pages littering the floor. They were arranged as a sort of ritual altar, the center of which was a bust of Empress Celene I. The once artistic marvel now sported a dagger through the forehead. It served well to attach the death threats against the empress to her likeness. Fucking lunatics, all of these Templar bastards! This was not just a power struggle, this was quickly turning into some real cult shit!

It only got better from there, realizing the Lord Seeker had been replaced by an envy demon that stole his face, and nearly getting her own face stolen by said monstrosity. The resulting battle inside her head for control over her own body got to the point where even the dwarf so skeptical of magic was ready to accept help from some kind of weird spirit thing to emerge victorious. 

The Elder One they had been raving about at Therinfall Redoubt promptly showed himself as soon as The Breach was sealed and nearly wiped Haven off the map. Well, actually, to be fair, she had been the one doing the wiping from the map with that last-ditch trebuchet shot; the red lyrium-encrusted partially decaying giant of a fiend had simply tried to murder them all with mages and dragonfire. It was hard to see why the Templars would want to call something like that their ‘god’, but the Inquisition had bigger problems to tackle, namely, how not to freeze to death in the Frostbacks. Solas had found them Skyhold, and while they worked to fix up the abandoned castle, Malika Cadash had been named Inquisitor and promptly fled to go kill some undead in Crestwood to escape that fact.  
Needless to say, the memory of a plot to kill the empress of Orlais took a backseat for quite a while.

Only once their newly appointed leader left for the field did the War Council have plenty of time to talk about plans of action. There was very little they knew about this Corypheus or his motivations apart from his proclaimed desire to sit in the Throne of the Maker in the once Golden City. The mark on the Inquisitor’s hand had been a tool meant for him to achieve this purpose, but was no longer able to be used the way he’d intended. Still, despite not having any idea where to begin searches for information, Cullen, Josephine and Leliana were all in agreement: they were not going to wait for another disaster like Haven to claim more lives. They were going to take the fight to him, and they would do it by interfering with the one plan they knew he had concocted thanks to those Red Templars. They were going to save Empress Celene from assassination.

All of these things led to the current situation Malika found herself in, one she never would have imagined a year ago. The woman, who proudly measured four and a half feet tall, had been made to stand on a high stool while a small team of seamstresses took her measurements in various places. It felt much like being a scarecrow, she figured, what with her arms sticking straight out and posture held at attention lest the measurements ere. Her patience for this was quickly dwindling.

“Josie, remind me again why you are so certain the assassin will kill Celene at this party, necessitating us to attend said party in the proposed finery you are measuring for?” Cadash grumbled, being careful to move any part of her body except her mouth.

“In such a huge social gathering, it would be a simple matter for not only one, but several assassins to gain entrance and access to the Empress. So many masked faces and swirling gowns…a blade can be easily hidden. An assailant can easily disappear back into the crowd as well.”

“They ALWAYS wear those absurd masks!” Malika scowled, prompting one woman to hastily finish the measurements around her neck and remove the measuring tape to get out of her way. “You’d think half the people in Orlais would have their identity stolen at some point or another. Seems like one huge safety threat, not just at this party. How do they stand not being able to see each other’s faces?”

Josephine took that deep breath that so often accompanied conversations with her leader. “This may be true to an extent, but there is far more to the masks than protecting identity. In any case, having so many masked people is not the main concern for security. These are also negotiations for an end to the Orlesian Civil War. They will be so busy keeping a wary eye on Celene’s cousin Gaspard, and the leader of the spy network, Briala, that they won’t notice any other party plotting in the shadows.”

“Wait. They are throwing a huge ball in the middle of…peace negotiations?!” She couldn’t help but squirm slightly in disgust, causing more than one seamstress to grit her teeth and pray to the Maker for patience. “What if they go badly? What kind of awkward party will it be then?”

Josie sighed again. “Mistress Cadash, it is the way of Orlesians to engage in social gatherings for all occasions, not just the overtly joyful ones. They mark significant events, regardless of perception.”

“Yeah, so they can have more chances to gossip, plot, and stab each other in the back.” At this, she could her a slight sniff from somewhere around her calves, and a glance down confirmed that one of the women was looking quite miffed. Must be Orlesian. “The nobles, I mean.”

Josie was pinching the bridge of her nose now. “I can see we will need to spend a great deal of time working on preparation for this engagement. You are done dealing with the issues in Crestwood, correct?”

“Yep. Bandits driven out, rifts sealed, dead are staying dead, met with…” Malika paused, recalling just how many other ears were around. “…contacts. It sounds like our next stop will be the Western Approach. I hope to get there as soon as possible because…”

“There are only three days until the event at Halamshiral. You will not be able to head anywhere until after this business is concluded, I’m afraid,” Josie informed sternly, raising an immaculately groomed eyebrow at her charge.

“Three whole days at Skyhold?! There are people out there that need help!” The seamstresses hurriedly grabbed their final measurements and stepped back, allowing the dwarf room to gesture. “What can we possibly need three days to do to get ready?”

“You, Lady Cadash, are not well versed in the traditions and etiquette of Orlais. Do you know how to pronounce the titles? How to properly greet men and women of various stations? How to dance a waltz? We will be lucky if you can accomplish all this in three days. I spent years studying in Orlais to master its finer points.” Finally Josephine stopped to address the workers. “You already have the measurements for myself, Cullen, and Leliana, yes?”

“Indeed, ma’am,” one of the trio acknowledged in a heavy Ferelden accent.

“We will require three more for…oh dear, I haven’t inquired with the Herald yet.” Josie turned back to Cadash. “Who will you be taking with you as a team?”

Malika hopped down off the stool. “Blackwall.” That went without saying. She brought Blackwall everywhere. There was no one she trusted more, and now that he had finally given in and kissed her properly, she couldn’t stand the thought of not having him near. He’d at least make this suffering bearable.

“A noble Grey Warden. We’ll have to see about giving him a trim first,” the diplomat mused, jotting something down on her clipboard. “Who else?”

“Well…we have the left hand of the Divine coming. Why not the right? Cassandra won’t be thrilled, but she would probably be a good person to bring along.”

“Makes perfect sense to me. I’m sure she can be convinced, even though I know she feels similarly to you in all matters of nobility. And the third?”

“Mmmmm…” That was trickier. She knew who she’d LIKE to bring, but wasn’t sure Sera or Bull would fit in very well. They’d probably be miserable. Everyone in the inner circle was still trying to understand Cole, and it would be unwise to bring him along when he could easily cause a scene with his disappearing and reappearing and strange ideas of helping. Dorian was right out as a Tevinter mage, and Solas wouldn’t be much better off. She could already imagine the elf’s grimace of pain at the sea of ignorant fops surrounding him. Varric might work. He was crass in some ways but certainly a charmer. “Perhaps…”

“Might I suggest Lady Vivienne?” Josie finally interjected calmly. “She has many connections in the circles of Orlais. She knows the Game better than most anyone, and can assist you greatly with the social aspect of the evening.

That was precisely why Malika was hesitant to say her name. Vivienne would probably scold her for every little faux pas, and there would certainly be many of them. Still, the two were not on bad terms by any means, given their similar views on mages and shared sense of practicality over sentimentality. It was rather surprising to most outsiders how amiable the refined first enchanter and the rugged ex-Carta thug were towards each other.

In the end, her practicality won out. The way Josie talked, she was going to need all the help she could get. “That sounds like a good idea. Add Vivienne as the third.”

“All right, ma’am, we shall go fetch those measurements and begin work posthaste.” With a slight bow of her head, the Ferelden exited the room with her two companions in tow.

Once they were safely out of the room, Malika finally asked the most burning question. “Dare I ask what we will be wearing to this event?”

“Well-tailored pants and jackets. As intriguing as the thought of our Lady Inquisitor in a ballgown would be, it is hardly practical should you need to…eliminate…any threats at the party. We will all have matching apparel to accentuate our association as the Inquisition.”

To hear this, Malika heaved a sigh of relief. “Good to hear. If you asked me to put on a dress and dance the Remigold, I’d draw the line.”

At this, Josie couldn’t help but giggle, hiding it modestly behind her manicured hand. “Lady Cadash, the Remigold is a very Ferelden dance. You wouldn’t have to worry about dancing it in Orlais with or without a dress. The waltz however…”

Just as quickly as she’d relaxed, Malika tensed again. “Is that really necessary? Surely dancing is optional.”

“Not in Orlais, as you shall soon learn. Come, I do believe we should start with a debriefing on Orlesian culture and customs. Then, after lunch, the bows and social cues. By tomorrow your boots should arrive and we can begin work on the dancing. It will be tricky given the slight heels on them…”

“Heels? I thought you said we were being practical? And why so many lectures? I’ll just keep my mouth shut and let you do the talking if you are so worried about insulting those haughty Orlesian pricks!” Hands were on her hips now, defiance sparking from her green eyes.

Josie was normally a very cheerful, good-natured woman even when dealing with the most trying of visitors. Malika Cadash was, however, no visitor, but a comrade who had to learn her lesson quickly for the sake of all. Josie had hoped she could avoid a direct confrontation with the Inquisition’s new leader, but naturally with a woman like Malika standing before her, that was not possible. It was time to nip this in the bud once and for all.

At the Inquisitor’s most recent outburst, her features hardened. All soft edges turned to steel in a jarring contrast. “It may seem trivial to you, but regardless of how you feel about playing the Game of Orlais, this is a matter of life and death. Insult someone, even if it is only perceived as such, and we lose valuable allies, resources, and influence that we have worked so hard to accumulate. Without these things, how can we hope to defeat the enemy? We might even get removed from the ball, and how then would we be able to stop any assassins? This is to say nothing of triggering duels to the death or even full-scale war against us. No, Mistress Cadash, we cannot afford to make any missteps in a playing field the Orlesians control. I cannot be there to speak for you at all times, and thinking of sending you, Cassandra and Blackwall into the middle of it…” Even in her aggravation she wouldn’t articulate the feeling of nausea in the pit of her stomach, the pure anxiety that only a diplomat could have for people beyond their control.

Malika was taken aback, just as Josie had hoped. Was this what people meant about the nice ones snapping being the scariest? No, this still had nothing on the Dasher when someone botched a job. She could still imagine the sound of crunching bones as a finger or hand was broken. This was probably just the unsettling fact that the nice one finally got upset, and SHE had been the cause. “I’m not from this world, Josie, and I’m going to ruin things. What they do is so frustrating and superficial! Why not settle things in a straightforward manner?”

Josie’s harsh gaze at once softened. “Luckily, our host, Duke Gaspard, thinks a lot like you in this. You two should have no problems hitting it off at least.”

“Gaspard is hosting us? Not the Empress?” Malika wondered incredulously.

Josephine shrugged. “We are not yet worth the Orlesians’ time while their civil war rages. Undoubtedly, as the leader of the force trying to overthrow the current ruler, Duke Gaspard wishes to gain an ally to help tip the balance of the war in his favor. It matters not, as long as we get into the event.”

“I see. So, one of the strongest nations in the world won’t give us the time of day, but if they fall, Corypheus has us in checkmate.” Malika let loose a growl. “Damn that bastard, it’s all his fault I have to endure this… Fine, let’s get started already before I lose my nerve.”

As Josie led her away for lectures, she could hear a muttered stream of colorful curses directed towards those petty Orlesian crooks. Sweet Andraste, who knew this would require a miracle of the same caliber as the Herald’s emergence from the Fade? Clearly, the first task would be to teach Malika the art of subtle sarcasm so that the insults she was bound to hurl at the gala would at least be socially acceptable.


End file.
